Ray walked slowly, tentatively, the streets are a dangerous place to be and never trust them, especially if they are quiet.
Mikey held his rifle tightly as his eyes surveyed the area. For a sixteen year old, Mikey sure knew how to handle a firearm. Frank plodded alongside Gerard, swinging his new weapon back and forth gently and casually. Frank loved mallets, he loved weapons you had to use body strength for, it made it more personal when you kill; like you achieved something. Any man could fire a gun, but where was the satisfaction in that? The gun had practically done all the work for you, therefore it was the guns victory not your own.
Gerard just stared straight ahead, willing their situation to be a nightmare.

Gerard remembered how he used to enjoy horror films, how he used to laugh when zombies chased a screaming victim and ate her but now he had experienced that feeling of pure terror he regretted it. But this was no nightmare. Nightmares don't last for two years straight.

Mikey was the only family Gerard had left now, but what would happen to the other should one of them die?

"Gerard, look." said Frank, pointing to something at the bottom of the road. Gerard cringed, thinking that there were more Creepers lurking in the shadows. So he was more or less surprised when it turned out to be a pack of dogs.

The creatures were starving. A mangy mutt that appeared as a balding husky, growled at their presence, hackles raised. The others; a pack consisting of a dalmatian, great dane, rottweiler and a doberman; copied their leader and snarled, pawing at the asphault.

The husky strode over boldly, overgrown claws clacking with each step and it barked warningly at the boys. Gerard began to move back slowly, getting the others to do the same.
The dog was famished, all skin and bone. It looked at the boys hungrily and barked at the rest of the pack. The doberman bounded forward, a vicious look upon it's face.

Frank swung the mallet and caught it in the skull, cracking its head open. It hit the ground, dead.
Mikey lifted his rifle and pulled the trigger, shooting the rabid husky inbetween the eyes.

The rest of the pack scarpered, tails between their skinny legs,
"Nice shot, Mikes." Ray complimented, staring at the husky's corpse that lay bleeding in the middle of the road.
Frank took out a penknife and shrugged,
"Well that's lunch sorted then." He hunkered down and using his knife, gutted the dog. He left the entrails as a distraction should the rabid mongrels come back.

He slung the corpse over Gerard's shoulders and retrieved his beloved mallet, he smiled,
"Next stop, the War Museum."